Sketched In Pen
by KittenBeanie
Summary: Skank!Kurt didn't think he'd have an interest in the new kid, Blaine. One-shot.


**_Sketched In Pen_**

Originally this was a very short one-shot of Kurt and Quinn sharing clothes, which changed into Kurt's slightly lengthier skank transformation, and then Blaine got involved. So here's what happened instead of the 200 words I expected to write. I'm warning you that some of the joke in this are things that I myself would make, so don't expect them to be good. :/ (And yes, I know how cliché the tutoring thing is.) Enjoy!

"So," Quinn started as she plopped down on the bed with a _flop! _"Which part of Kurt Hummel's wardrobe are we altering today?" Kurt wrinkled his nose in disgust as she lit a cigarette. Quinn glanced at him, "You'll get used to it."

* * *

He turnedto his closet and started flipping through hangers. "First off, I think I should be able to veto what doesn't get destroyed if I'm going to do this."

"Not destroyed," Quinn interrupted. "Altered. Plus, you already got that bar through your ear. Can't back out now."

Kurt rolled his eyes, but gently touched the silver piercing stretching through the two edges of cartilage on his ear. He turned in the desk mirror by the closet and pulled his hair back to look at it.

"It's actually a great choice. More options than a nose ring," Quinn shrugged. "But I wanted the nose ring, and only had so much money that day."

Quinn had gotten a silver hoop through her left nostril at a tattoo parlor a few weeks ago. Since then, she'd gotten pink streaks in her hair and drastically changed her wardrobe to be... Skanky. Miraculously she'd managed to encourage Kurt to do it with her.

"It's different..." Kurt mumbled.

"We can do your hair first if you want."

Kurt paused thoughtfully. "Okay."

In the bathroom, Quinn set up her supplies on the counter. "Do you want it like mine or more color? Less? One section?"

"I think... I think I'll do it like yours... But slightly less," Kurt decided.

"Cool," Quinn flipped the box over and started reading, "I won't have to break out the other bottle. I have purple too, though."

"Pink's perfectly fine."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I know. Are you going to change first? It can be a little messy."

"Yeah, give me a minute," Kurt walked off into the bedroom again and glanced inside his wardrobe. A black tank couldn't be bad... Could it? And those baggier jeans he bought for when he tried being straight. (It hadn't worked out too well. The borrowed baseball cap had smelled like french fry grease.)

He returned to the bathroom and Quinn greeted him with a wicked smile. "You'll have to bleach a few sections first, your hair's darker than mine."

"Not too much, okay?"

Quinn rolled her eyes, "Yeah, yeah. It'll be great, you'll see."

"I'm not _worried_ about it not being great, fuck, I know it'll be fantastic. I'm worried about you damaging my hair!"

Instead of snarling, Quinn grinned. "There's that inner skank coming out. I knew you had one, Hummel."

"I can be a real bitch sometimes," Kurt stated.

"Yeah, if you would just be a bitch all of the time, you'd already be a part of the Skanks. More bitch, less porcelain."

Kurt glared at her.

"Like that! Yes! Now turn around so I can start this. It's a process."

An hour and a half later, Kurt was blow-drying his new magenta-y locks. "It looks good, right?"

"K, it looks perfect, can I style it?"

"No!" Kurt yelped. "I can do my own hair, thanks."

"Jeez, just wanted to help," Quinn grumbled. She picked at her striped sock.

"I'm going to do it. You can't help me style my hair every morning, not that I'd let you," Kurt finished. "Can you understand?"

"Yeah. I suppose. But now can we do your wardrobe?"

"Give me a sec... There! Done. How's it look?" Kurt turned for Quinn to see, who was sitting on the toilet lid.

She looked up, "Looks great. Done?"

"Mm-hmm." Kurt had styled his hair to a messy coif.

"Then let's move it. We'll still need to stop at the mall, you don't own a leather jacket, by any chance, do you?"

"Actually, I do, it's the one from our mash-up competition," Kurt smiled.

"Good. One less thing to buy. Now how objected are you to piercing your other cartilage a few times?"

"I think it'd look good," he turned, showing her his bare ear. "Three little silver hoops? And a double lobe piercing? Sound good?"

"Better than you'd think, Hummel. Didn't know you had it in you."

"I don't," he stuck his tongue out at her suggestively.

"...you've never had sex?"

Kurt blushed and looked down. "There aren't very many out gay people here. It's Ohio, you know."

"But there's that gay bar! What's it called... Scandal's?" Quinn exclaimed.

"Most of them are a lot older."

"So?"

"Quinn, don't you think I want it to mean something?" Kurt looked at her.

"...you're going to need to change that if you want to make it as a Skank."

"What? My attitude, or virgin status?" Kurt said incredulously.

"Both, but just your attitude for now."

Kurt toed the white tile before looking up. "Okay."

{{{***}}}

"Hummel! Get your ass over here, you owe me a light."

"Coming, Quinn!" Kurt jogged to the place under the bleacher where the Skanks had made their den.

Quinn was sprawled out on the duck taped lumpy purple couch. Her arms were outstretched towards Kurt's pack of cigarettes. "Gimme."

"Jeesh, careful there." Kurt tossed her the pack and perched himself on the couch arm by her head, looking down at her.

"There's a new guy by the name of Anderson. Wears _bowties,"_ Quinn lit her smoke. "And sweater vests. His hair is gelled to the point of helmet-hair. He reminds me of Mr. Shue. But the bowtie thing has got to mean he plays for your team."

Kurt looked away and groaned. "Just cause he's gay does not mean I'm going to fuck him."

"I know for a fact you haven't lost your V-card," Quinn blew a puff.

He stiffened. "Remember what I told you the first time? I still feel that way."

"Ok, I was just mentioning it. Plus you're failing Chemistry, and Anderson's smart. You can just tell."

Kurt glanced at her. "No. I can see where you're going with this. No."

"Fine. Just trying to help."

"I don't need it," Kurt got up and started walking towards the parking lot, shuffling a cigarette out of the box, lighting it, and taking a drag. Conversations with Quinn could be so stressful.

A tune caught his attention and Kurt whipped his head around.

Anderson. Blaine Anderson, shuffling through papers on the hood of what Kurt assumed was his car. Most gorgeous boy on the planet, but Kurt wouldn't let Quinn know he thought that. Changing his appearance didn't change his taste in boys, apparently. Blaine had transferred in for senior year at McKinley but the reasons were unknown to Kurt.

Blaine looked up to catch Kurt watching him.

Kurt looked down and dropped his cigarette, stubbing it out with the toe of his steel boot, and turned away.

{{{***}}}

"Porcelain! Can I talk to you for a moment? My office, right now, Porcelain." Sue shouted down the hall.

Kurt groaned and turned around amongst the crowd, reaching Sue's office.

"Sit, Porcelain. Now, it has come to my attention that you're failing quite a few of your classes. When you changed your stupid pristine look for this, I thought it was just what gays were wearing this season. Not that I keep track of those things. I didn't expect you to take it to heart. So I've taken a liberty that the school board actually grants me and graciously hired you a tutor. Cause you can get out of here, Porcelain, and here he is now."

Kurt turned in the chair to see Anderson at the door, slightly out of breath and clutching a dozen papers, shoulder bag ruffled. "You wanted to see me, Coach Sylvester?"

"Get in here. Porcelain, Young Burt Renolds. Young Burt Renolds, Porcelain. Renolds, you'll be tutoring Porcelian for the rest of the semester to insure my sweet Poreclain here passes and manages to get a diploma in his lady-clutches. You'll receive extra credit. Now get out of here before your gelled head starts to grow legs."

"Umm... Okay..." Blaine shifted his feet, trying not to seem eager. Looking at Kurt, he said, "See you later, I guess?"

Kurt merely shrugged and raised his eyebrows in response, fingering the corner of a green sketchpad.

"Good. Now get out of my office, if you stay too much longer I'll catch your hormones and have a desire to use my thumbs to tap at miniature keyboards for undying hours."

Kurt stood and left, walking past Blaine and trying to get his cigarette box out of his jacket pocket. He was just starting to light it when Blaine came rushing down the hall after him.

"Kurt! Kurt! Come on! We have to arrange a time!" Blaine scrambled to catch up.

Kurt swiveled around as Blaine came to a screeching halt in front of him. "No, we don't."

"But I told Coach that I'd tutor you," Blaine pushed his glasses up his nose. Kurt thought it was cute.

"No, she told you you'd tutor me. I don't need your help," Kurt started to turn, but Blaine grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Obviously you do, or you wouldn't be failing," he pointed out.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "We're going to go back to living our separate lives now, Blaine. Bye."

Blaine didn't let go of his arm. "No, I'm going to tutor you."

Sighing, Kurt faced him. "Why do you care so much, Blaine?"

"Because it's the right thing to do." _Lier._

Oh, Kurt's got himself a non understanding do-gooder. Great.

"So would leaving me alone."

"No, you need help, so I'm going to be the one to give it. I'll meet you at the public library at four thirty today," Blaine declared and let go of Kurt's arm, marching off.

{{{***}}}

It was four twenty-four, and Kurt was standing in front of the public library entrance smoking. He shouldn't have come, just ditched Blaine to let him get the message. So why was he here?

Four twenty-five.

Because he's an idiot, Kurt thought. Because he thought Blaine was cute with his determined-ness, and couldn't be as stubborn as he usually was.

Four twenty-six.

He could just leave. Leave, and forget about Blaine. Do it, Kurt, the sane part of his brain encouraged him.

Four twenty-seven.

_Leave! Leave and never come back!_ A portion of his brain screamed. _But you want to see Blaine, and he wants you to show up,_ the little voice said.

Four twenty-eight.

Last chance. Get out of here, Kurt. Blaine isn't important. Just leave.

Four twenty-nine.

Well shit. No turning back now.

Kurt threw the burned-out cigarette butt into the little flowering plant by the door, and headed in.

Four thirty.

"You came!" Blaine smiled, showing a row of white teeth. "I really didn't think you would."

"Then why'd you show up?" Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you showed up, didn't you?" Blaine grinned.

"So?" Kurt deadpanned.

"You came, so we're going to study," Blaine said, leading them to a table. "What do you want to start with?"

"I don't know."

"Well, what are you failing?"

"Trig, Chemistry, and Global," Kurt stated, ticking them off his fingers.

"Wow... Okay. We can do this."

"I really hope so," Kurt breathed inaudibly.

"What?" Blaine glanced up from the contents of his bag.

"Nothing."

Tutoring sessions with Blaine turned out to be more difficult that Kurt thought they'd be, even though he looked forward to them every week, not that he'd admit it.

He was slipping. Every time he let Blaine see more and more of his old persona, which he didn't want to do, dammit! And since when did Kurt notice Blaine *Anderson*? Last week Blaine had probed his pen cap with his tongue, and Kurt couldn't pull his gaze away until Blaine started talking. This was bad.

"So Blanderson's been tutoring you," Quinn started.

"Coach Sylvester is making us," Kurt informed her.

"You like him."

"He's my tutor. I think I might actually pass."

"You know what I mean," Quinn pushed.

"It's allowed, right? He's nice!" Kurt stood from his spot on the couch.

"I just want you to remember what happened to me," Quinn grunted.

"You got _pregnant!"_ Kurt shot out. "Unless my genes are seriously messed up, doubt that will happen to me."

"Your sketch book is full unfinished sketches of him. Everything is done except his freaking eyes. Fuck, Kurt, you've aways been a romantic but... Fuckkkk."

Kurt's own blue eyes went dark gray. "When, exactly, did you look at my sketchbook?" He asked, forcing himself to keep a steady voice.

"Last night when you took a piss at my house."

"Stay **out** of my things, Lucy Fabray!" Kurt screamed, starting to storm off.

"Don't forget who you are, Kurt!"

Kurt stormed off, ignoring her.

"I'm remembering," he mumbled out of earshot.

{{{***}}}

"So Christmas break is coming up, so the library won't be open until the new year."

It was the week before Christmas, and Kurt and Blaine were having another study session among the romance novels.

"I was wondering if you wanted to, umm, do our tutoring at my house? The day before Christmas Eve. Unless you want to take the week off," Blaine hesitated, not wanting to get shot down. "If you think you need it."

Kurt thought for a moment. Say no! Say no say no saynosaynosayno- "Sure."

"Really?" Blaine perked up.

"Yeah, I mean, why not? I have to pass to graduate. I really don't want to be stuck here another year."

Blaine shrugged. "I just didn't think you'd want to."

Kurt peered at him from under his pink bangs. "We should go over the material."

"Okay. Umm, here's my address," Blaine poked out his tongue (which Kurt would be lying about if he didn't say he didn't watch), writing on a neon green sticky note.

"Thanks."

And that's how Kurt ended up on the Anderson's doorstep the day before Christmas break to study with Blaine. He paused, then rang the doorbell.

_thump thump thump thump_

The door opened to reveal a slightly out-of-breath-Blaine with flushed cheeks. "Kurt! Hey! Ready to memorize those vocabulary words?"

Kurt simply stared. "Uh... Are you okay?"

Blaine looked down on himself and back up at Kurt with a confused expression. "Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"You're all..." Kurt motioned to his face trying to make Blaine get the idea. "Breathy."

"Oh!" Blaine laughed. "I just didn't want Cooper to get the door, he can be an ass," Blaine lied. (No, that wasn't true. Cooper really _could_ be an ass, but it wasn't why he'd rushed to get the door.) "You've got to be freezing, get in here!" He commanded, opening the door wider for Kurt's body. "Just leave your shoes there on the rug."

"Whoa..." Kurt looked around as he toed off his boots. "Your house is really nice."

Blaine ducked his head. "My mother," he mumbled. He spoke up louder, "Umm, do you want to go up to my room? It's about the only place in this house you can feel like you can, um, sit down."

Kurt was still gazing around the graciously furnished entry way. "Yeah."

Blaine's room was still nice, but much more... Blaine-esque. The colors of the room complimented his skin tone, Kurt noted. Instead he spun and asked, "Where do you put all your bowties?"

Blaine flushed an even deeper color than his rouge bowtie he had fastened over his striped gray sweater. "They're in the closet."

Kurt giggled, and Blaine gave him a look. "You're not serious, are you? I mean- in the *closet* of all places? That's a horrible joke."

"So why exactly are you pointing it out?" Blaine's eyes went steely.

"No idea," Kurt giggled.

The corners of Blaine's deep carmel eyes softened automatically. "You are so weird, you know that?"

"Not particularly."

Blaine hummed noncommittally.

Kurt plopped on the neat bed in response. "So what are we covering today?"

"I already told you. Vocab," Blaine answered, sitting on the other side of Kurt's already distinguished realm. Notebooks and a history textbook were already laid out. Blaine eyed the army green fabric of Kurt's sketch pad poking out of his tattered bag. Kurt always had it with him, and obviously it had seen a lot of love, but Blaine had never mentioned it nor seen any of Kurt's art.

Kurt grimaced. "But I don't want to do vocabulary," he pouted.

"That's all we have to do. Then you can leave and do better things, I promise." Blaine kept his eyes on the ceiling, controlling his tone. Why couldn't Kurt just try to at least act like he wanted to spend time with Blaine?

Kurt groaned.

Blaine tried a different approach, creeping his hand across the bed until he was grazing the top of the comforter nearest Kurt's bag.

"Why do we have to study?" Kurt asked, lolling his head towards Blaine.

"Because!" Blaine exclaimed triumphantly, standing at the edge of the bed with Kurt's sketches in his hands.

Kurt bolted upright. "Blaine Anderson, you give me those back _right this fucking second,"_ he growled.

"After you study," Blaine spoke innocently.

"Blaine. Give them_ back,"_ Kurt lunged, missing as Blaine dodged his arms.

Blaine stepped to the far side of the room, opening the book to a random page so it was facing Kurt, being careful not to look. "After. Then you can have this back."

Kurt stopped and blinked at him. "Blaine, that's Puck's horrible but very, very, detailed drawing of his cock."

"What?" he yelped, quickly turning the pad to confirm Kurt's words. "Well, um," he started to flip the page, when Kurt tackled him onto the bed, scrambling for his book.

"Kurt!" Blaine started to laugh.

"Ha!" Kurt smirked when he snatched the sketchbook, looking down at his tutor from where he was pinned. Blaine kept Kurt's strong but now smug-less gaze and blinked evenly.

"Kur-"

And that's when Kurt quickly leaned forward and connected their lips forcefully. Blaine gasped, hands automatically going to grasp at the hair at the nape of Kurt's neck, causing Kurt to whimper and cradle the sketchbook between their chests. After another second, Blaine pulled away first.

"Kurt," he gasped, making Kurt whine and chase his lips. "Kurt!"

Kurt pushed off Blaine's chest roughly and started shoving his things into his bag. Before Blaine could process what had happened, Kurt was already at the door and starting down the stairs.

"Kurt!" Blaine chased him out the front door. "KURT!"

Kurt fumbled involuntarily with his keys, accidentally allowing Blaine to catch up. He spun around.

"What, Blaine? What do you want?"

"Well, I don't know! You just kissed me and ran off!" he yelled.

"Because you didn't want me to!" Kurt spat.

"I never indicated that I didn't want you to! I wanted to talk to you, Kurt Hummel. I wanted to freaking _talk_ to you because you kissed me."

"Well, I don't know what you want me to say," Kurt leaned defeat-idly against the black Navigator. The brunette pressed his hands to the driver's side door, caving the skank in.

Blaine paused. "Why'd you do it?" he whispered.

"I don't know," Kurt answered, avoiding Blaine's face.

"Why'd you kiss me, Kurt?"

"I told you, I _don't know!"_ Kurt almost yelled in distress.

"Don't you dare tell me you 'don't know' because you do, Kurt, you just don't want to tell me. So _why_ did you kiss me?"

Kurt finally looked at him. "Because I wanted to know if you liked me back," he admitted quietly, looking down at the ground again. "And you don't, so that's that. So can I please leave now?"

"God, Kurt," Blaine choked. "I wouldn't have tried to have you over if I didn't like you." The skank looked up at him again. "I was surprised you even accepted."

Kurt met his eyes a final time, and Blaine connected their mouths gently this time. It was Blaine who pulled away again and Kurt who simply looked at him. "Now what?"

Blaine laughed, "I ask you if you'll be my boyfriend."

"Oh," Kurt said hollowly.

"You don't want to be?" Blaine frowned.

"No, that's just more that I'd hoped for," Kurt admitted sadly to the pavement.

"Well I think it's pretty appropriate," Blaine shrugged.

"Okay." Kurt nodded, and Blaine grinned and offered Kurt his hand. The skank hesitantly accepted it, and they started to make their way back to the house.

"So what's really in that sketchbook?" Blaine smiled lightly.

Kurt punched his arm.


End file.
